


In the Halls of the Elven King

by htebazytook



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elves, First Time, Humor, M/M, Mirkwood, Poetry, Romance, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo visits Thorin during his imprisonment in Thranduil's halls.  Smut ensues!</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Halls of the Elven King

**Author's Note:**

> How I would like things to go down in The Desolation of Smaug, basically. Features some incidental Elves I've heard tell of.

**Title:** In the Halls of the Elven King  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)**htebazytook**  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Warnings:**  
 **Disclaimer:** <—  
 **Pairing:** Bilbo/Thorin  
 **Time Frame:** Mirkwood  
 **Author's Notes:** How I would like things to go down in The Desolation of Smaug, basically. Features some incidental Elves I've heard tell of.  
 **Summary:** Bilbo visits Thorin during his imprisonment in Thranduil's halls. Smut ensues!

 

 

It is not as dark in Thorin's prison as it had been in the forest, but there are aspects to his current plight that are worse, despite the comfort of food and water.

His wounded pride, for one thing. Getting lost in a notorious forest such as Mirkwood wasn't unexpected, and they had taken some, if not sufficient, precautions. But being captured by the very Elves who had betrayed his people was decidedly unexpected, and so unsavory it gave the wholesome food they provided him a sour taste.

Thorin's just finished his latest unhappy meal when there comes a familiar voice:

"Thorin? Oh, _finally_ , I can't tell you how long it's taken me to find where they were holding you."

Thorin stands, heart racing, and presses himself against the bars of his cell. "Halfling?"

"I have a name, you know."

"How came you here?" Thorin asks, still unable to see anyone in the dimly-lit passage.

"The Elves seem to think we're spies," Bilbo says, "though I do not know how we might have known to keep well away from their land, given they couldn't at least be bothered to put up a no trespassing sign . . . "

"Bilbo, where are you?" Thorin has heard of the deceits of magical folk, the ability to imitate a voice or persuade with one to terrible purpose.

"Oh! Forgive me." Bilbo appears. That is to say, where once was empty air and the polished stone walls of the passage is a bedraggled, beaming hobbit. "Now, then. The others are all safe in different cells all over this impressively complex warren of hallways, and they're all fine, though some of them are still a bit sickly from the spider-venom. Nothing that nourishment and some well earned rest won't mend soon enough, however, and—"

"Bilbo." Thorin can feel how wide his eyes are, and is beginning to think Bilbo is not really there after all, but is merely a trick of the eye meant to deceive Thorin into giving his captors information.

Bilbo looks genuinely perplexed, in a way that only the hobbit himself could've done. He comes closer to the bars of Thorin's cell, and Thorin reaches out to touch his hand unthinkingly.

"It is you," Thorin breathes. He had honestly not expected Bilbo to survive the forest, he had been so hungry and miserable.

Bilbo laughs. "Yes, of course it is. Who else ought it be?"

"How did you . . . ?" Thorin looks Bilbo up and down. He seems solid enough, and his hand is warm and wonderfully real.

" _Oh_! Oh, right. I've a magic ring, actually. Invisibility, you see. Well, you don't, which is rather the point. Quite forgot I hadn't mentioned it to you—in fact we thought you were among us for some time before realizing you weren't. And then we had little time to search for you before we too were captured."

Thorin can now see the ring held carefully in Bilbo's palm, though why he hadn’t noticed it before is a mystery. Bilbo flinches as he touches it too before withdrawing his hand. When Thorin looks up it is like seeing Bilbo anew, as a living thing now and not a hallucination. Bilbo has a day-old cut across one eyebrow, a grimy face and what looks like cobweb stuck to his shoulder. His eyes are familiar in a way that feels like relief, but they're also more hardened and keener than they had been at the start of their journey.

"You had a secret to your luck, then," Thorin says. "And you aren't all that clever, after all."

Bilbo shrugs. "That may be, but then again I'm not the one who got himself captured by _Elves_."

Thorin smiles. He had missed Bilbo's lighthearted manner.

A loud metallic clang echoes down the passageway.

"The guards are coming," Bilbo says urgently, makes to leave but stops himself and grins at Thorin for a moment. "I'm glad to have found you again, Thorin. I shall tell the others." And with that he disappears into thin air, leaving Thorin blinking in disbelief as the Elven guards approach.

"I _think_ I know the king better than you do, Captain," a male elf says.

A female elf laughs. "I think not, little one. I fought beside him with the last Men of Westernesse and Gil-galad son of Fingon's folk before the Morannon, before ever you were born here under the trees. I know the king well, and I know he will not take kindly to the news that the latest inventory is short due to his own son's negligence."

"It is no matter if there are a few less pitchers of wine for the feast." The male elf is adamant.

"We shall see," the female elf says, nonchalant. It is at this point that they pass by Thorin's cell without sparing him a glance. The male has the blonde hair of most of the Elves who dwell here, but the female has long locks like the deep coppery shadows of the forest above, and the bearing of a warrior such that Thorin dismisses any hasty plans for escape.

*

Thorin is staring blandly out into the passageway when a hobbit appears. He can't help starting, and resolves to avoid doing so in the future given the little smirk that twists Bilbo's mouth when he notices.

"Good morning!" Bilbo says, munching happily on an apple.

"Is it morning? I have lost all sense of time in this place . . . "

"Really?" Bilbo frowns. "Dwarves _do_ live underground, yes? And really I must say it's rather easier to navigate here than back in the mountains, rather more akin to a hobbit-hole."

Thorin is getting impatient. "What news, halfling?"

"Well, the elves are gearing up for a very important feast, evidently, and there's quite a lot of drama among the downstairs set about it, so—"

"What _relevant_ news?" Thorin interrupts.

"Oh, psh," Bilbo says. In Thorin's opinion, Bilbo is enjoying the upper hand more than is necessary. "I've told the others that you are here, and they are more anxious than ever to plan an escape. Balin especially."

"Good. What did he have in mind?"

"He was rather hoping you had some ideas. Actually, they all were. They don't seem to want to do anything without your direction, now that they know you're also a prisoner."

"And whose lead did they follow prior to that, pray tell?"

"Well . . . they didn't so much follow my lead as I happened to be in a position to take the lead."

"I see. And will you be taking my place as leader of the company for long?"

Bilbo laughs. "I do not relish it, certainly. But if I _can_ help, then it's only polite to do so."

Thorin just looks at him. His optimism truly is contagious. Especially now that Bilbo has been thrust suddenly into what he'd never known to be his element. It makes Thorin want to hope in spite of everything.

"Now the Elves have taken my weapons, not to mention the key to the hidden door, I wonder what hope we have left in our quest if ever we were to escape."

"Do you really have no plan at all?" Bilbo asks.

"You are, as you say, in a better position than me to make decisions."

Bilbo raises his eyebrows, the cut above the right one making it a lopsided gesture that is terribly endearing. "And you trust me with that, do you?"

"I trust you with my life, Bilbo," Thorin says, and finds that he means it. "You will find a way."

Bilbo starts to smile, but it's interrupted by distant voices. Voices that grow ever closer:

>   
>  _The Sindar prince is ever fair_   
>  _The envy of the realm his hair,_   
>  _Yet arrows fired from his bow_   
>  _Alight on neither friend nor foe._   
> 

"Captain, I must ask you to stop. This behavior is most unseemly."

"That may be, _gwinig_ , but it is certainly a merry way to pass the time."

"For you, maybe."

Bilbo disappears in the nick of time. The male and female elf who usually walked this way come into view, and this time they stop.

The Captain bends to peer through the bars at Thorin suspiciously. "Your beard is short indeed, for a Longbeard," she says.

Thorin remains impassive. "That is very well, for I never said I was one."

She straightens, looking down her tiny Elven nose at him. "You are surprisingly quick-witted, for a dwarf. But you will tire of this solitude, eventually, and tell us the true reason you infiltrated our kingdom without the leave of its king. I will warn you that he is not a forgiving ruler, and the hospitality he has shown you spies thusfar will not last through the winter when we haven't extra provisions for the gluttonous appetites of dwarves."

"And I will warn you that you have now alerted me to the presence of the other spies you hold captive."

The captain stiffens. Her companion makes a valiant attempt to stifle a giggle and fails miserably. "I am Tauriel daughter of Arabellas, I am the Captain of the King's Guard, and you are my prisoner. Because you refuse to tell us anything of yourself or your purpose, as far as we know you are nothing more than a wretched wanderer o'er lands belonging to others, begging at the door and giving naught in return, utterly devoid of valor or honor. Neither I nor the king shall change our opinion of that even if you decide to claim to be something, after all, for vagabonds of noble birth are cowards nonetheless."

" _I_ am no coward. But one who would imprison a peaceful trave—"

What feels like a hand on Thorin's arm stops him. So Bilbo had stayed? Thorin is almost glad of it, if only to let Bilbo see the true nature of Elves when he had so often been left in awe of them in Rivendell.

Tauriel is very smug at his silence, and Thorin expects Bilbo can feel him vibrating with rage about it because the hobbit's grip on him tightens warningly. "You have many words but little of worth to say," Tauriel says. "What more could be expected of a dwarf?"

"Go not to the Elves for counsel," Thorin growls. "For they will hold you prisoner without reason and in spite of explanation."

Tauriel holds his gaze for a long moment. Just as she opens her mouth to speak again there is a soft little _thud_ from farther down the passageway, which she sprints away to investigate at once. "Come along, Legolas," she calls.

The blonde elf looks conflicted. He whispers, "My apologies for my lady Tauriel, she—"

" _Legolas Greenleaf_!"

Legolas jumps and trots along after her.

Bilbo reappears, and only then does Thorin realize he's still holding tight to Thorin's arm. "Waste of a perfectly good apple," Bilbo laments.

"You did not have to—"

"Apparently I did. Now, do try and avoid ruffling the feathers of our captors too much more in my absence."

Thorin nods, and Bilbo rubs his arm contritely before leaving.

*

When Thorin next awakens it is to the soft muttered words of one of the fair folk. Indeed as he lets his eyes sliver open there is the male guard he had seen so many times, pacing to and fro agitatedly and having an argument with himself:

"Of course she doesn't respect me, why should she? She is right, of course, for the only reason I have the position I do in the Guard is because of my father . . . and because of that, I allow myself be relegated to dwarf-sitting duty? Why, a child could perform such tasks! I ought to be riding side by side with her in the raids, but no, Captain Tauriel will hold a grudge til the last ship has sailed into the West, no matter that it was an accident when I left the front gates open last century, and only a _few_ of the spiders did end up getting inside, and anyway she killed them almost right away . . . "

Legolas stops talking, and looks at Thorin, and his eerie Elven eyes go wide. They regard each other for a minute before Legolas straightens out his tunic, collects himself, and strides away with his head held high.

Thorin snickers quietly, and is annoyingly surprised when he's once again treated to Bilbo appearing before him without warning. "Hullo, Thorin!"

"I see you have found yourself a bath." Thorin hasn't seen Bilbo this fresh-faced since their time with Beorn.

"Indeed I have," Bilbo says. "The Captain of the Guard is out hunting—they do that sometimes, but there doesn’t seem to be a way to easily sneak the lot of us out through the front gate, unfortunately. Anyway, with her gone it is remarkably easier to sneak around in here."

"And so you are now bathed and fed and may put your furry feet up by the fireside." Thorin had meant to sound disgruntled, but it comes out more gently than the occasion quite called for.

"I bit, yes. But her absence also made it easier to retrieve this." Bilbo holds aloft the key to the hidden door.

"You . . . " Thorin had been resigned to its being lost forever. "You are full of surprises, Master Hobbit."

Bilbo's expression goes soft. "I do seem to be, don't I? I'll hold on to this for now, though, I think, considering I'm not captured and am somewhat less likely to be searched."

"It is possible that you may be captured, especially considering you spend so much of your time in full view and talking to prisoners."

"Yes I suppose it is possible," Bilbo laughs, "but then again look at my track record."

"I fear you are becoming very arrogant."

"I fear you are simply concerned I'm encroaching on your territory, there."

Thorin laughs. "I—"

But he is suddenly quite unable to speak because Bilbo has pulled him against the bars of his cell and stood on his tip-toes and pressed his mouth to Thorin's. Thorin reaches through the bars to catch onto Bilbo's tattered cravat and keep him from retreating. Bilbo gives a tiny moan that reverberates fantastically into Thorin's mouth, and he lets Thorin's tongue past his lips immediately, sucks on it and tilts his head and kisses Thorin back even harder while his hands grip Thorin's tunic tighter and tighter.

Just as suddenly as it has started, it ends, and Thorin is abruptly bereft of the warmth of Bilbo's mouth, the notion of his desire, the sweet floral scent of his clean skin and soft hair.

"Oh goodness," Bilbo is saying, red in the face and frantic. "Oh my, did you _hear_ that?"

"I do not hear any—"

"Goodbye!" And Bilbo trips over himself before disappearing again.

*

" . . . And Dwalin's still stuck on this idea of going out the front gates. No matter how many times I explain about their magical properties, he dismisses it as elf-magic, as though that means it's only powerful if you take it seriously, whereas the thirteen dwarves those same Elves have successfully imprisoned as a result of said magic rather proves the opposite, don't you think?"

"Yes," Thorin says carefully. "But do you not think we can at least try the front gates? It is only elf-magic, after all . . . "

Bilbo sighs. "Oh I don't know why I try, I really don't."

"Bilbo—"

"You cannot charge me with the responsibility of figuring a way of this mess, you simply cannot. It's been over a week, and we're still no closer to escape. There are no more ideas to be thought of!"

"Calm down, Bilbo."

"No!" Bilbo runs a hand through his hair. "This is not a very calming situation. From the look for things, my fate will be to wander these halls in secret as a sort of resident ghost, with naught but the stubbornest of dwarves for company whenever I can chance a visit to his cell."

"I do apologize if my stubborn Dwarven company is too much a burden for you," Thorin barks. "However if I recall correctly, we did not complain of you being a burden to us when we carried you from the Carrock, when you got yourself lost in the goblins' caves, when the trolls—"

"Yes yes, you've made your point," Bilbo snaps. "I'll be on my way then, shall I?"

Thorin reaches through the bars to catch Bilbo's sleeve. "Wait."

"Oh no, I quite understand. I'll not trouble you with my attempts to form a logical plan of escape any longer."

"Please wait."

Bilbo looks at him. Thorin yanks him closer to the bars, trails his hand up Bilbo's arm and watches Bilbo watching. His eyes flutter very slightly when Thorin thumbs over his mouth and leans down and kisses him.

Bilbo's whole body seems to relax, and his hands sneak between the bars to thread through Thorin's hair as he kisses back, gone sensuous in the way that he moves and demanding in the way that his mouth presses against Thorin's.

A moan erupts between them, and Thorin's surprised to realize it had come from him. It encourages Bilbo, though, who moans in return and licks his way into Thorin's mouth, tries to pull Thorin flush against him but the unyielding cold press of the prison bars prevents it. Thorin's hands map over Bilbo as much as is possible given their situation, whispered shift of Bilbo's clothes and the enticing heat of his body beneath them. Bilbo arcs delightfully into Thorin's touch, and breaks the kiss on a gasp when Thorin kneads Bilbo's backside.

Thorin bends to suck at Bilbo's neck, taste him and feel the vibrations of the moan that escapes his throat as Thorin finds a particularly good spot. Bilbo's fingers tangle painfully in Thorin's hair and he pants, "Yes, there," and when Thorin glances up he gets to see Bilbo's eyes squeezed shut and his bottom lip between his teeth. Thorin takes Bilbo's chin in his hand and tilts his face down to bite at Bilbo's kiss-bruised lips for himself, and Bilbo bites back and sucks and licks along Thorin's busy tongue until they're both clutching at each other and nearly whimpering with want.

"Oh confusticate this," Bilbo mutters, then drops to his knees. "Keep watch."

"Keep wa—Bilbo, what are you . . . ?"

"I think that should be perfectly obvious, Thorin." Bilbo works Thorin's clothes open enough to pull his hardness out.

"Bilbo," Thorin hisses. "The guards could come back at any moment."

"Which is why you're keeping watch. Anyway they shan't come for at least another hour. _You_ , on the other hand . . . " And he takes tip of Thorin's cock into his mouth before Thorin can think of a counterargument.

Bilbo sucks on Thorin's cock in the way he had on Thorin's tongue, soft and teasing and belied by sharp little flicks of his tongue. He grips the base as he takes the rest of it down, impressively far and leaving Thorin breathless. When Bilbo pulls off again he waits til Thorin looks at him before licking slowly around the head and holding Thorin's gaze as he takes it halfway in again.

He bobs lazily back and forth on Thorin's cock, sucking distractingly on the upstroke and glancing with greenish eyes up at him every so often. Thorin gets the distinct impression that Bilbo would be smirking if his mouth wasn't otherwise occupied. Bilbo bobs a little faster, not nearly fast enough, though, so Thorin touches Bilbo's hair to encourage more speed.

Bilbo _hmm_ 's and increases the pace to the point that Thorin can't help gripping Bilbo's hair less carefully and starting to thrust into the fantastic heat of his mouth. Bilbo doesn't seem to mind, or at least the glances he favors Thorin with now seem to be heavy-lidded with the same desperate desire that courses through Thorin's veins.

Bilbo stops moving and lets Thorin control the pace, laughs or moans or tries to speak around Thorin's cock but it's entirely muffled. He seizes the bars of the cell for support as Thorin thrusts into his mouth, and Thorin can't get enough of the sight of him so wanton and improper, and the hot suction of his mouth and the clever twists of his tongue against Thorin's flesh certainly don't help him to control himself.

Thorin is so near to climax now, pulls away to pump his cock himself and get himself there. The sight of Bilbo on his knees and panting and wet-mouthed with tousled hair would've been enough for Thorin, but then Bilbo replaces Thorin's hands with his own, and uses them both to move even quicker up and down until Thorin cries out and finds release.

Bilbo catches most of it in his hand, which he wipes on an oversized handkerchief he had clearly stolen from the Elves. He grins up at Thorin, as though he just might appreciate the symbolism in it too, and Thorin hauls him to his feet awkwardly through the bars, which Bilbo laughs about until Thorin has worked his breeches open and is pumping Bilbo's straining cock slowly and firmly.

Bilbo's head falls forward, his grip on Thorin's forearms tightening bruisingly. "Please. Oh, please . . . " Bilbo's voice is throaty and breathy and completely delicious so Thorin kisses him to try to capture it. The sound Bilbo makes into Thorin's mouth as he speeds his hand is loud and unchecked, and Thorin squeezes Bilbo's cock harder to get Bilbo to unravel even further.

Bilbo doesn't even try to be quiet, making unearthly noises into Thorin's mouth and grinding his hips shamelessly into the friction. "That is _so_ good, Thorin, oh keep going, I just . . . oh, _please_ I— _mmf_."

Bilbo groans lovely and low pitched into the kiss, eventually wrenching his mouth away to gasp, "Please," against Thorin's over and over again before he finally spills into Thorin's hand, forehead falling against Thorin's shoulder as much as was possible through the bars.

Thorin fetches the handkerchief to clean up. Bilbo's breathing slows, but he keeps Thorin close and seems to have no intention of moving.

"As marvelous as that was," Bilbo says, still a bit out of breath, "I should much prefer to be able to touch you in a more traditional setting, or at the very least without you behind bars, though I am not sure what would be a traditional setting for a hobbit and a dwarf to engage in, hm. Well. "

"Take heart, Bilbo," Thorin says. "Soon all of this will be but a tale to be told round the fireside, and there will be feasts in the halls of Erebor greater than any you have ever known in the Shire, with merry songs of our victory and the wine endlessly flowing."

"I hope you are right," Bilbo says lazily, cheek pressed against one of the cell bars. "Wine endlessly flowing . . . "

"Yes." Thorin stokes through Bilbo's hair idly.

"Endless indeed, but where does it come from, if . . . oh." Bilbo straightens up. " _Oh_!"

"Bilbo?"

"Must be off, terribly sorry!" Bilbo grins at Thorin. "We shall be in Erebor sooner than you think, if my hunch is halfway right," he says, then slips his ring on and is gone.

*

"If you only practice, I am confident your skill with bow and arrow will improve much," Tauriel is patronizing. "Then, you may even be given leave to ride out in the hunting raids with your more experienced kinsmen."

Legolas sighs. "I do practice."

"Excellent! Keep doing so, and you will soon be able to hit the target."

"I did hit the target."

"You hit what is a popular target, to be sure, but the king your father's summer crown was not the _intended_ target, I do not think. We can all agree that while the dead butterflies he took a fancy too this season were unusually morbid, it is certainly not worthy of—"

"Ai! Captain!"

"So hasty and fiery-tempered, Legolas. Why, one would think you were one of the Exiles."

"But Captain!"

" _Patience_! It is no wonder you struggle so with archery, you are as restless as a hind that leaps here and there at the mere thought of a twig snapping."

" _The prisoner has escaped_ ," Legolas blurts.

Tauriel stops, looks in Thorin's empty cell, looks back at Legolas with a cool expression. "And _who_ was in charge of looking after him?"

"Technically me," Legolas admits, and Tauriel nods. "But . . . ultimately you. Captain."

Tauriel's glare falters a little.

"We should tell the king."

"Oh, I do not think that will be necessary, Legolas," Tauriel says, and even Legolas can tell she's panicking. "It is only one dwarf."

"Captain!" cries another of the guards from down the passageway. "It's the prisoners, Captain, none can be found in their cells!"

Tauriel's eyes harden. "Oh no, I don't think so. Come _along_ , Legolas."

So Legolas chases after her through the halls with the other guards. He finds he won't be terribly bothered if the dwarves _have_ all escaped—they hadn't been evil folk at heart, not really.

And anyway, Tauriel will certainly end up taking the blame for it.

*


End file.
